the saga about the door

So I live in this railroad apartment that looks something like this (I've drawn the whole floor so you get a sense of things)

As you can see, our apartments are laid out slightly differently, but the main doors for both come from the hallway into our kitchens. And my kitchen is right next to my bedroom (so as to more easily facilitate midnight snacking!)

My neighbors are, for the most part, decent people. They're married and recently moved to the city from grandma's apartment on Long Island (or something) and they enjoy music and food and generally good times. And there are two of them living in the space I inhabit by myself. I really have no complaints against them.

Ok, that's a lie. I have two.

1. They periodically have these blood-curdling SCREAMING matches where no holds are barred, no volume too loud, and if there were more doors in our apartments, they would all be slammed. At one point, I heard one shout at the other "I HOPE YOU DIE SO I CAN SPIT ON YOUR DEAD BODY!!" Good times.

So there's that; and

2. They slam their door any time they go in or go out, and often times, that's at 3:00 in the morning.

I've acknowledged that there's nothing I can do about #1 (except maybe slip the name of a couples' counselor under their door... although being single now, perhaps the name of my counselor isn't the best suggestion...) but as for #2, I had to try something. My beauty sleep was at risk!

The slamming had been going on for quite some time, but I had been spending a great deal of it at my (now ex-)boyfriend's house up the street. Once it started to bother me, though, I left a note to the neighbors, kindly begging them to cease the slamming.

They wrote back that since his grandmother had died, they didn't need any more stress in their lives and would try to be more quiet.

(There was a secret logic at work in that note which, to this day, I haven't figured out) Nothing got better.

Round two: I left a snarkier note saying that the slamming didn't bother me, except when it happened at 3 a.m. Still nothing.

Round three: Went to the landlord. Begged him to do something. He said that he lives right next to the front door of the building and if I want to talk about slamming I can call him any time. Yeah, still nothing.

Round four: Fume.

Round five: Wake up early after having the door slammed at 3 a.m. and slam the door into the living room, just for effect. Nothing.

Round six: Start screaming every time the door slams.

Round seven: Wake up with the slamming of the door. Unable to get back to sleep, go to their door and secretly masking tape the back of their door ornament (this attractive metal and glass hanging thing that CLANGS every time the door slams) to the door in a fit of pique.

Round eight: Go back to the landlord. Boss him into dealing with the situation. He says he'll take care of it when he comes back from vacation in May.

Round nine: Go to the neighbors myself to see what the fuck is going on.

Round ten: Quietly, solemnly and tearfully admit defeat, as I see that they have two deadbolts, and neither of them line up well enough for them to be able to close the door with anything resembling quiet. The landlord will have to replace the entire door frame for this problem to be fixed.

So now I know that they aren't doing it to be mean or out of any kind of laziness, selfishness or stupidity. They just need a new door.

I can't wait for May!

THE MORAL OF THE SAGA:This whole issue with the door is something that my ex-boyfriend could easily have taken care of (even fixed, perhaps) if I had asked him to. It would have been a no-brainer for him, as he's very handy and excellent with tools and fixing things. But he's not here to take care of me anymore, and I knew that nobody else could address this situation for me. I loathe confrontation of any kind, so just asking them to stop slamming made me nervous. But I'm very proud of myself (I've earned my muscley profile picture!) for dealing with this myself. And for only crying part of the time.